A Man Named Walt
by rmlohner
Summary: There was an Author before Isaac. This is how he was recruited.


The piece of paper crumpled in the man's fist, and he wished he could make the meaning of its contents vanish as easily. The ends of his mustache twitched in his helpless fury, and a tear escaped his eye. What was the cause of such anguish? To most people, it would seem rather silly: nothing more than a cartoon rabbit. But then, most men were not Walter Elias Disney.

Years ago, he had been fired from his job at a newspaper due to, in his boss' exact words, having no good ideas. Since then he'd devoted himself to proving that man wrong, and for a while it seemed that he had succeeded. Oswald the Lucky Rabbit was a rather simple creation, really, but in Walt's hands he had popped from his animation cels full of vibrant life and personality, and audiences ate it up.

And then, this letter. Due to the vagaries of copyright law, he had just been informed that the rights to the character he'd created and poured so much of his soul into were owned entirely by his boss Charles Mintz, and they didn't want him working there anymore. It was a crushing blow, enough to make him start wondering if this whole thing was worth it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Standing outside was an old man with a giant white beard, who looked oddly like the kind of person Disney would have drawn as a foil to Oswald. "Hello, sir," he said. "I've been going over your work, and I'm very impressed."

Walt held up his hand, in no mood to deal with a fan at the moment. "Well, I'm afraid you're a bit too late. If any more work is done with Oswald, it won't be from me."

The man nodded sadly. "Yes, I've heard about those troubles too."

This took Walt aback. "What do you mean? I only just found out myself."

"If I might come in, this might take some explaining."

Walt saw no reason to refuse, and had to admit he was curious where this could be going, so he extended his hand inside. "What are you, some studio insider, expecting me to beg for your scraps?"

"Oh, not at all. In fact, I'm here to make you an offer beyond quite anything you could have imagined until now."

"Unless it involves owning my own studio, I'm not interested. I've just been burned by that once, and I don't intend to let it happen again. I'm going to make sure I own any of my own work from now on."

The man smiled. "That may be just what happens. But first, if you'll indulge me, I'd like you to pick a pen…"

Walt had been quite bemused when the test was explained to him, but that was nothing to his reaction when the pen he picked up gave off a brief blue glow that sparked away. When it was followed by a magically appearing door through which he could see so many of the figures that he'd loved in his childhood from the likes of the Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, and Hans Christian Andersen, he could be forgiven for feeling a bit faint.

"There have been many Authors of tales like these since the beginning of time, people whose imaginations let them fully encompass the stories that needed to be told. Each has put their own different spin on them, as it were, and after seeing what you've been able to accomplish on your own, I'm sure you have the necessary touch, if you'll take the job." But before he could say anything more, the man suddenly twitched and a mouse emerged from his sleeve, settling in his hand. Looking quite embarrassed, he said, "I'm sorry, I can assure you this has never happened before. Perhaps I've gotten a bit absent-minded after doing this so long."

Walt almost didn't notice, gazing thunderstruck at the sights before him. He didn't take any longer to say, "Absolutely, I'll do it."

After the strange man left, Walt was left to ponder his new duties, and the possibilities open before them where none had seemed possible just minutes ago. For some reason, his mind kept returning to that mouse, and after a while of trying to focus more on those old stories, it hit him: why not also tell some of his own while he was at it? Oswald might be lost to him, but surely he wasn't going to accept that he only had one good idea after he'd fought so hard to prove himself. And like a flash, it hit him just how useful that mouse might be.

He quickly got on the phone to his brother, who'd gone into business with him on his crazy cartoon ideas and would probably also be feeling the crush of their loss about now. "Roy, it's Walt. I've got something else we could try…"


End file.
